


Sorry, I'll Come In Again

by sabinelagrande



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Prostitute, Consent Play, Kinky, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AUs I'm definitely not writing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sorry, I'll Come In Again

**Candy Shop**

They're just like every other family that comes into John's shop. Frazzled-looking mom, screaming kids, oblivious dad. They actually buy some stuff, though, which is a nice change. Mom shuffles the kids out, and Dad comes up to the counter, Visa in hand.

He keeps giving John long, speculative looks as John rings up his candy, looks John is intensely familiar with.

"What time do you get off?" Dad asks, and John really wishes he was surprised. He's disappointed, for some strange reason, but he's not shocked at all.

He's not bad looking, for a guy in a shirt that says "Gravity: it's the law" and a pair of rumpled bermuda shorts. Brown hair going thin on top, way too pale to be from around here- it all screams tourist.

What the hell. John's always been a sucker for the nerdy types- and if he's accosting random guys behind counters, obviously John didn't start his marital troubles- though he might just end them.

He scribbles down his address on one of the cards by the register. "Come over around ten," he tells him.

"Really?" the guy says, his voice going kind of high and breaky. He coughs, trying to cover and failing. "I mean. Yes. Ten. Obviously."

On his way out, he stumbles into the door frame, and John starts to wonder whether he really has done this before.

For a straight guy who's cheating on his wife, he's pretty cute.

John closes up at eight, and by the time he's changed and showered- he skips the shave, even though he's got wicked five o'clock shadow- the guy's already knocking on his door.

"You said ten," he says when John opens it, sounding offended. John glances at the clock; it's only 10:05. He'll live.

John steps back to let him in. "So, I was thinking that-" the guy starts, but whatever it is, John's really not interested. He grabs him by the shoulders and pulls him in, hauling him close so that their lips meet. The guy hesitates, like maybe he doesn't do that, but John certainly does, and he's way past putting up with people who don't. It only takes a minute for him to melt into John, tension easing out of his shoulders, hands wrapping around the back of John's neck.

"Wow," he says, when they finally part, looking amazed and sweet.

John catches him by the hand and tugs him along to the bedroom. "You ain't seen nothin' yet," John says, smirking.

It isn't until John gets him into the bed and gets his pants off that the guy starts getting bossy. He puts his hand on the back of John's neck and says, "Suck me," and John is happy to oblige. He's got a nice, big cock, and he makes these great noises when John works his tongue against it. It's good and dirty and a little sloppy, and John's jaw is just starting to ache when he goes off, moaning and pushing and clutching at John's head.

When he's finished, John lays back down beside him, satisfied with himself. "Give me a sec," the guy says, panting. "I want to-" he waves generally in the direction of John's dick.

"It's okay," John says, suddenly thinking of the wife and the kids and the bermuda shorts- and christ, what was he thinking? Where are his boxers?

"No, it isn't," he replies, rolling over and settling his hand on John's hip. "Trust me, I _really_ -"

"You should get back to your wife," John blurts, biting his lip immediately after he says it, because he doesn't want to know when he turned into every mistress from every old movie ever.

The guy sits up, bracing himself on one arm. "What are you blathering about?"

"Come on-" he starts, but he realizes he doesn't actually know the guy's name, so he flounders and stalls out.

"One," he says, holding up a finger, "it's Rodney- Doctor Rodney McKay- and two? She's my sister. I was showing her and her awful little monsters around." His mouth drops open. "You thought I was-"

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah."

"I was going to take you to dinner," Rodney says huffily. "I was going to _pay_ for it."

"I know a good sandwich place," John says, kissing his shoulder in apology.

"Well, it's a bit late for that now, isn't it?" Rodney replies, still in a snit.

He rolls his eyes and pulls Rodney closer, letting his still-stiff cock rub up against Rodney's thigh. "They deliver until two," he says, deliberately misinterpreting.

Rodney sighs, pretending to be highly put-upon. "You're buying," he says.

"Cool," John replies, pecking him messily on the cheek.

"Now get over here and fuck me before I change my mind," Rodney orders.

"Can do," he says, grinning and reaching for the condoms.

 

 **Tick-Tock**

"The Seth Thomas is a fake."

John gives the woman who's standing at the counter a smile; she looks worried, even though her clock is an unremarkable, new-ish Howard Miller. "Rodney, who would fake a Seth Thomas Number 7?"

"Loads of people," he insists. "They probably make," he waves his tools above his head, "nefarious plots about it. I don't even know why you're wasting your time with clocks in the first place."

"You know," John says sweetly, "they say watches are much simpler to work on."

Rodney sputters incoherently with righteous anger, giving John enough time to see the nice lady on her way. He takes a look at the pocket watch Rodney made for him; he doesn't trust any of the clocks, because a lot of them tend to run on Sheppard time. It's time to give the shop a last once-over before closing.

They've got a pretty good thing going here. John shares the first floor with Rodney and his watches; upstairs, Teyla displays her stained glass, and Ronon does complicated things to wire and gemstones. The upstairs is, as usual, already pristine, so John takes his time dusting the myriad of clocks and cases scattered around everywhere. John has long since given up trying to clean up after Rodney; somehow, as catastrophic as his work table is, it all makes some kind of convoluted sense to Rodney, which is the important thing.

The shop is cacophanous for a moment as a dozen clocks chime the hour, and John puts his chamois back in its place. "Give me a hand with the door," John says, and Rodney begrudgingly comes to his aid, helping him tug the big antique doors closed. It takes both of them to push the bar into place; after that, it's simple to lock the second set and pull the gate down, closing the front of the shop up tight enough to satisfy Rodney's paranoia.

Just like every day, John leans over and gives Rodney a kiss. "Take-out?" Rodney suggests.

"Making steaks tonight," Ronon calls from upstairs.

"Don't have to tell me twice," John says. He offers Rodney his arm with mock chivalry; Rodney rolls his eyes, but he takes it, letting John lead him on.

 

 **Caveat Emptor**

The ride to Crystal is unbearably hot, unbearably silent, and just generally unbearable. It's also unacceptably long; they've got to go all the way down to Pahrump and way out into the county just to get what they want- well, to get what Rodney wants.

Only at Area 51 would people carpool to a brothel.

He drops Kavanagh off at the Cherry Patch, because apparently Kavanagh hasn't got any taste, but the place Rodney goes doesn't have a sign. He goes around back and gets shown in, like usual, by some offensively pretty girl who kind of looks like she could break him in half as soon as look at him.

She takes him back to one of the rooms and opens the door for him, smiling seductively. She leads him in and shuts the door, and Rodney startles when he realizes that someone else is in the room with him.

He's wearing all black, right up to his sunglasses, and leaning lazily against the wall on the other side of the door. "Hey there, doc," he drawls, pushing away from it.

"W-what are you doing here?" Rodney sputters. "You're not-"

"Relax," he says. "I know what you're here for."

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Rodney insists.

He snorts. "Sure you don't. Why don't you make yourself comfortable?" he says, tilting his head at the big bed across the room.

"I'm leaving," Rodney tells him, but he doesn't move an inch.

"I said-" and the way he flips his switchblade open is unbearably theatrical, but that doesn't mean it doesn't make Rodney's mouth go dry and his dick harden in his pants- "get on the bed."

Oh, this place is _so_ worth what Rodney pays for it.

Rodney backs up a few steps, so that his back is against the door. "Please, just let me go."

John- his favorite, by far- stalks toward him, his hips swinging. "I don't think you want me to."

"I'll give you anything you want," he pleads. "Just let me go."

John takes another step closer, grinning evilly and shaking his head.

"Please, stop," Rodney pants, not desperately enough to really sell it.

He stops and lifts up his sunglasses, tilting his head to the side and frowning in confusion.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asks, indignant. "You're not supposed to listen to me!"

John's expression doesn't change. "Your pants are glowing."

Rodney rolls his eyes. "It's probably just my-" He looks down. "Holy fucking shit." He looks back at John, looks down to the previously inactive shield device in his pocket, looks back to John. "You have to come with me."

"Bullshit I do," John says, closing his knife and shoving it into his pocket.

"Look, you don't know this yet, but you're really, really important," Rodney tells him; John snorts. "And the people I work for? They can get you anything you need. They can get you a better job, they can make your record disappear-"

"I don't have a criminal record," John huffs.

He frowns. "How does a streetwalker end up with a clean record?"

John crosses his arms over his chest. "For your information, I was never a streetwalker."

Rodney waves a hand. "Yes, I'm sure it's a fascinating story, and you can tell it to me after we leave."

"You're really bad at this persuasion stuff, you know that?"

Rodney sighs crossly. "Whatever they're paying you-"

" _They_ don't pay me anything," he points out. "I'm an independent contractor."

"Okay, whatever _I'm_ paying you? I'll double it."

John narrows his eyes. "Quadruple it, plus I get expenses."

"Done."

He blinks. "What, really?"

"Yes, really."

"I thought you were bluffing."

"I would never, ever bluff about this," Rodney says earnestly.

For a moment, John seems to consider his offer, but he shakes his head. "It's tempting, but I'd rather not get left in the desert to die."

Rodney sighs in frustration. "Don't make me have to come back here in a Humvee and pick you up, because I totally will." He stops, takes a breath, ignores his natural impulse to berate John into agreeing with him. "Why don't I give you the number for my supervisors, you can talk it out with them. If it doesn't seem legit, then I'll get somebody down here to talk to you officially. Deal?"

"Deal." They look at each other for a moment. "Do you want to finish the scene first?" John asks.

"Seriously?"

He shrugs. "You paid for it. I could pick it back up, if you were still game?"

"Are you kidding?" Rodney says eagerly. "I mean, obviously I can't tell you what just happened, but I can tell you I'm more turned on now that when we started."

"Okay, then." The room spins suddenly; in one neat move, John has one of his wrists wrenched up behind his back. "I think I was just about to show you what happens when you don't do what I fucking tell you."

"No, please," Rodney gasps.

 

 **Good Vibrations**

John stared at the bookshelf, wondering what to take home with him.

Some guy was standing next to him, tapping his foot and looking at the same shelf John was; John wouldn't have thought twice about him, except that John reached right just as the guy reached left, and they ended up bumping into each other.

"Sorry," the guy said, with just a little bit of an accent, taking a book from the shelf and getting out of John's way.

"No problem," John replied, picking up his own selection.

When he glanced back, the guy was still looking at him, frowning slightly. "Can I help you with something?" he asked.

"You work at Cal."

John narrowed his eyes. "If you've got a problem-"

The guy looked alarmed. "No, no, it's not- I work there too. Doctor Rodney McKay," he said, holding out a hand. "Physics."

"John," he said, shaking it. "I'm at the Kroeber Museum."

He gave John a long, appraising look. "Do you, um, coffee?"

John lifted an eyebrow at him. "Do I coffee?"

"What I meant was, would you possibly be interested in drinking a cup of coffee with me?" Rodney said, looking worried. "I mean, obviously, we'd have two separate cups of coffee that we'd be drinking, but we could do it at the same table, and maybe there would be a muffin or something that we'd be sharing, unless you wanted your own muffin, which is fine with me, or maybe you've got a gluten allergy and I'm being totally-" Rodney covered his face with his free hand. "Oh god, I'm so bad at this, aren't I? Look, just forget that I-"

"I'd love to. Just let me-" He waved his copy of _The New Bottoming Book_ by way of explanation.

"Yes, of course," Rodney said, looking at _The New Topping Book_ in his hand. "I should do that too."

When they had gone, Laura turned to her coworker, a huge grin on her face. "See? I told you they needed to be on the same shelf."

Evan shrugged. "When you're right, you're right."


End file.
